


untitled ficlet

by carolinecrane



Series: pancake series [8]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-22
Updated: 2008-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-ep for 9x07.</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled ficlet

"I can't believe you didn't call me."

"You were in the field with Riley. What was I supposed to do?"

Greg shifted his head where it rested against Nick's thigh, glancing at the game playing on the TV and then up at Nick. "You could have waited for me. Or made up an excuse to get me away from Riley."

"I thought you liked her."

"She makes me feel old," Greg said, letting out a sigh and turning back to the game. "She doesn't even know what 'let your fingers do the walking' means."

Nick laughed above him, and Greg smiled in spite of himself because okay, it was kind of funny. A hand landed in his hair, stroking slowly and Greg let out a little 'hmm' of pleasure. "We're not old. We're not as young as Riley, granted, but we're not old."

"Nick, it's Friday night in Las Vegas and we're watching college football on the DVR. Face it, we're old."

Nick laughed again, and Greg looked up to take in the lines around his mouth. They'd known each other for over a decade now, but he could still remember what Nick looked like when they first met. Younger, definitely, but Greg sort of liked the way his forehead crinkled when he smiled now, and he really liked knowing where Nick was going to be every Friday night.

"Do you want to go out?" Nick asked, fingers still moving through Greg's hair in a soothing, steady rhythm. For a second he contemplated getting up and getting dressed, heading out to a club to dance until they were so exhausted they couldn't stand up. Except he was already pretty tired, and Nick had been looking forward to seeing this game all week. He'd managed to avoid every news outlet or sports fan who might tell him who won, and Greg wasn't going to drag him out and make him wait even longer. Besides, it was pretty comfortable right here on the couch, and Nick's hand felt really good massaging his scalp.

"No," he answered, tilting his head to push Nick's fingers a little further to the right. "But I'm still mad at you for not calling."

Another laugh, and that was something that hadn't changed at all in the years Greg had known him. "I promise the next time I play mailbox baseball, it'll be with you. Happy?"

"Mmm," Greg said, closing his eyes to concentrate on the feeling of Nick's finger tracing the curve of his earlobe. "It's a start."


End file.
